


no matter how they toss the dice, it has to be you

by wreckofherheart



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>‘–– we should grow old together.’</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	no matter how they toss the dice, it has to be you

     It is not how she imagined, and she isn’t really sure why she imagined it––her––to be so _controlled_. That’s how she’s always seen Peggy: controlled. She masks her emotions brilliantly, moves and walks with purpose, fights dirty but focussed. Peggy _is_ controlled. Peggy _is_ the way Angie imagined her, when she has allowed herself to imagine her. She imagined Peggy would know what to do, would know where to touch, would know what she wanted. 

 

     She imagined Peggy would make love that way. Quiet, seductive, calm. 

 

     Not like this.

 

     Peggy’s mouth tastes of nicotine, whiskey, the lingering saltiness of her tears. A mix of upsetting influences. She’s rough. She’s forceful. And their kisses are hungry, a mess, with too much teeth and tongue. Angie’s back slams into the wall. Her arm is slung over the back of Peggy’s neck, her other hand dragging through her hair while she allows Peggy to take her. 

 

     But it’s all so _frantic_. 

 

     Peggy’s fingers tear at her uniform, and Angie exclaims when she feels her cool palms on her naked body. It’s _rushed_. Peggy is drunk. She’s unhappy. She’s sad. So Angie cups her face in her hands, and tries to kiss her softly, knees bumping, lips sore. She wants to ask what’s wrong, what happened, who did this to you, but it’s not a who and it’s not a what. It’s a whole combination of things, and it is not words Peggy is seeking. She grabbed Angie and kissed her because she trusts her, needs her, and even if it lasts an evening, she wants her to love her.

 

     They’re pressed to one another so fiercely, their lungs are crushed. Peggy holds their balance, hand up against the wall as Angie raises into her, lips on Peggy’s, on her cheek, her hot gasps passing her ear. This is not how she imagined Peggy as a lover, and she wonders if this is Peggy at all; or if this _is_  actually _Peggy_. The looming remorse which she covers day and night. Angie wonders until Peggy is kissing her neck, clutching her few remaining garments, and helping Angie out of them. 

 

     Angie feels terribly naked––whereas Peggy is still mostly dressed. She realises Peggy’s search for satisfaction, for comfort and safety isn’t as clear cut as Angie assumes. She just wants her. And only her. They’re going to make love against the wall, she knows that now, and the panic, excitement and concern hit Angie all at once. She moans loudly when she feels Peggy delicately touching her flower, and a part of her wants to grab Peggy’s wrists, push her to the floor and have her all to herself. 

 

     The friction of her finger rubbing her clit causes Angie to dig her nails into her shoulder, stand on her tiptoes, knock her head back. Peggy is still kissing her. She’s kissing her jawline. Her collarbone. She continues to push into her, her hot, wet tongue brushing across Angie’s breast. The younger woman whimpers in her grip, wraps her arms around Peggy and scrunches her eyes shut. She can barely handle the burning pleasure growing in her groin, trickling down her legs. 

 

     It’s too much. She can’t contain her orgasm: Peggy is touching her, kissing her breast, she’s inside her, and it’s just too much. Angie cums fast, and announces her peak enthusiastically. Breathless, she presses her mouth to Peggy’s, conscious that her partner has began to sober up. Her kisses are less vicious, less scary. Angie sighs, lost and melting into her. A soft moan escapes her when Peggy’s finger trails up her moist entrance, but she doesn’t progress further. 

 

     While they catch themselves, Angie watches the other woman in silence, eyes wide and open. Peggy’s red lipstick is smudged a little, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s _trembling_. The alcohol has washed away most of her makeup, and the nicotine has given her tired eyes and no one has ever appeared more beautiful to Angie. Angie is in _awe_ at her. 

 

     Is this when Peggy apologises for her rash behaviour? 

 

     Is this when Peggy tells her everything: before the war, during the war, and after the war? All these tiny, fascinating stories Angie is desperate to hear about. To know about, to know about _her_ , and that would be a dream. 

 

     Yet, in the most bizarre circumstances, maybe she has learnt a little more about this mysterious woman. She, too, has her bad days. She, too, runs to her alcohol; her smokes. She, too, seeks comfort and it is Angie she chose. It is Angie she needed. And, for now, she settles for that. Angie consents to another kiss, long and deep, and as Peggy’s gentle hands graze over her waist, she cuddles her close and doesn’t let go. 

 

     They touch, breathe and lean into one another, quiet and soft. Angie kisses her face, her cheeks, her lips, and wraps her warmth around Peggy’s bruised and shivering body. She does whatever she can to make the pain more bearable. She does whatever she can to make sure Peggy does not feel alone, and, for the most part, Angie’s affections seem to work. Under the harsh glare of the night, they kiss each other sweetly, sheets draped over their shoulders, and hidden away.

 

     ‘–– we should grow old together.’

 

     Not a must. Not an ought. Not a will.

 

     Should.

 

_We_ **_should_ ** _grow old together._

 

     A possibility. The only correct decision. Indefinite. Angie has to laugh––a weak laugh, lacking its joy, but a laugh all the same. She intertwines her legs with hers, trails her finger over Peggy’s lower lip. She doesn’t want to live another life without her, so she smiles at the suggestion, at the possibility, at the naïvety of Peggy’s voice. It makes a change, for once, to hear her like this. _Because Angie never imagined Peggy this_ _way, dependent and lonely_. They kiss.

 

     She thinks about the possibility again, again and again.

 

     Angie draws Peggy closer. 

 

_Her. Them. For the rest of their lives._

 

     ‘I think we already are, English.’


End file.
